


It's a Boy!

by auraofdawn



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crack, Dadgil, Dadgil Week (Devil May Cry), Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Gen, Team as Family, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 03:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21451354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auraofdawn/pseuds/auraofdawn
Summary: Vergil had handled the throes of the underworld for decades by himself, and he would handle a few hours of teasing by some simple-minded colleagues he couldn't really call friends. Patience was all he really needed here; patience and perhaps another glass of that wine he had discovered a growing tolerance of.Oh, how naive he was.
Relationships: Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 105





	It's a Boy!

**Author's Note:**

> me six months ago: what if dante threw vergil a baby shower lmao
> 
> me now: its free real estate

Vergil does not consider himself party to many social habits. He does not celebrate holidays (because they were all commercial opportunities, not due to his mother’s lack of presence to give them meaning). He does not mark most lifetime achievements (because those that humans celebrated were inane and exaggerated, not due to the lack of pride that Mother’s approval would have brought). He especially does not take part in small talk (because ‘shooting the breeze’ was another form of gunplay he had no interest in, not because Mother could no longer ask about his days).

Yet, Dante all but insists he join them for dinner. Always. The first couple times he had simply humored his brother, because Dante’s nature when they were children had been that he would only calm down when placated. He was so spontaneous and inconsistent that he contradicted his own wants more times than not. It drove Vergil mad simply through his own forgetfulness, more so than the vain things he wanted. 

But this was one thing Dante would not. Let. Go. Even when Vergil remained silent for the entire sitting or ate nothing that was offered. Even when he deliberately ignored any and all small talk that was thrown his way. He had gotten away with simply reading his anthology the first few times, but Lady of all people had snapped one occasion and tore the book from his fingers with a strength he dared not admit in company. 

“Stop it!” she commanded. 

Vergil was not proud of how wide he allowed his gaze to grow, but he was shocked at how suddenly she had exploded. Usually his sense we’re keen enough to know when the conversation was getting heated without even looking up from the page—but Lady had gone from zero to a hundred so quick. He was grateful that all the eyes in the room were far bigger than his, though Dante’s were suspiciously less so. 

Firstly Vergil grabbed the book back, quicker and less outrageously. Then he wondered: “Why?”

“Don’t you know how rude it is to read at the table?!” Lady spat. 

Vergil’s lips thinned. “There is no _table_ to speak of.”

They were all seated in a haphazard circle of sorts: Vergil always claiming the most robust of the less-scathed chairs in Devil May Cry, Dante at his desk, Trish seated on the arm of the couch which carried Nico and Lady, formerly. Nero, Vergil recalled, sometimes sat in an opposing chair to himself or on the lip of Dante’s desk. It all depended on which of his relatives he’d fought less with on the day. 

“You _know_ what I mean,” Lady all-but-growled, lowly but deathly serious. Vergil for a moment felt nineteen again, staring her down in an ancient ritual chamber with nothing but Yamato and Kalina Ann keeping them for killing each other. 

In the present he could sense only annoyance in her tone, but back in that chamber where she’d accused him of far worse, he could see a more effective source of pain. 

He only did as he did then, and met her gaze challengingly as he put the book down. 

The meal went on without another word about it. 

For whatever reason, Lady’s outburst is what breaks the silent dam Vergil had so carefully constructed around himself, and the cracks only grow in the weeks that pass. Somehow, the next time there happens to be company at a meal time, a long, rickety folding table shows up in the middle of the office, plates and glasses already cluttering it’s surface. Vergil raises a pointed eyebrow at his twin but Dante only gives him a sideways smirk and shrug—his only admission that it hadn’t been his idea. 

Nevertheless, the routine continues on with no further attempts at roping Vergil in unless by proxy. Nico tests the waters by announcing her newest creation, which Vergil manages to not outwardly scoff at. Trish even proudly shares a particularly large payday by way of drinks, of which Vergil is barely able to decline. Nero, in his sporadic appearances, only brings up small updates about Kyrie and the orphans, of which Vergil will not admit to taking note of in his planner. 

Dante, of course, is the one who is most casual about the most pressing thing of all:

“Isn’t the kid’s birthday coming up?”

The room circles in on Vergil and begins to shrink. He grips his tea cup tighter. 

“Is it?” he feigns neutrality. Was he supposed to know? Had his son ever attempted to tell him? His mind drew far too many blanks for his liking. 

“I always remember all the chocolate eggs being on sale,” Dante pondered with a finger on his chin. “And I just saw a few of ‘em at the corner store.”

The ladies audibly facepalmed. 

“It’s Easter, Dante,” Lady told him. 

Vergil mentally took note. 

“Is he doing anything?” Trish wondered. 

"Nero doesn't like making a big deal out of his birthday," Nico answered with a pointed meatball on a fork. 

"Can't say I blame him," Dante muttered, pointedly taking a swig of beer.

Vergil regarded them both, but chose to remain silent. His eyes focused on his meager meal.

"That's no excuse not to do anything for him," Trish huffed. Dante and Vergil froze at her tone instinctively but shook themselves free from it. 

"Mailing him something doesn't count," Lady eyed Dante suspiciously. 

"What?” his mouth gaped open in childish shock, a string of cheese threatening to fall out. “Fortuna's far; stamps are cheaper than ferry tickets.”

"You could send ‘em with me," Nico added. "I go back and forth often enough."

"No," Trish glared at them all, "take Vergil with you."

"What?" both twins regarded the fiendish frown on the owner of their mother's image with shock.

"Nero should at least see his _father_ on his birthday, if not both of you."

"If he doesn't want to see anyone, let alone me," Vergil searched desperately for a spot on the wall to focus on, lest he see the many glowering faces around him, "then I should respect his wishes."

The unity with which said faces fell only sent alarm through his spine. Even Lady looked aghast.

"Yeesh, you _really_ don't know how to parent, do you?" she scoffed. 

Vergil could only glare.

Nico curled her fork about aimlessly, pointing it at Lady. "What's that thing where people bring stuff to help new parents out?" 

Lady's nose scrunched up into the shape of her scar. "A baby shower?"

"Yeah, that! We should throw one for ol’ V!"

A chorus of laughter filled the room, including Dante literally slapping his knees. Amongst them all, Vergil massaged his temples and focused all his decorum into a sufficiently stern reminder:

"Nero is an _adult_."

"Yeah," Dante mumbled through a mouthful of pizza.

"He does not need to be taken care of."

"Not in the way you think," Nico sneered. 

Dante almost choked on his food but managed to bark out a laugh and high five the mechanic while she smirked victoriously. 

"Regardless," Vergil raised his tea cup just high enough to hide behind and threw a napkin at his brother, "the kind of event you're thinking of is only necessary for an infant."

"Don’t worry, we won't get you a crib, alright?" Dante winked deviously. 

"Sure could use a pacifier, though," Nico pointed with her fork, gravy dripping off the prongs as if it should scare Vergil into silence.

"It would be interesting to figure out what kind of things you do need, though," Trish sneered, meeting eyes with Lady. 

"A parenting book, for starters."

"Shopping spree?" The pair yelped with glee.

Dante inwardly groaned at the gigantic bill they were sure to deliver him. 

"Do you think you can handle snacks and decorations, Dante?" Lady asked. 

"Hey, who do you think you're talkin’ to? I'm a connoisseur of decorum!" he motioned around the office, pride evident in the potted plant that wasn't dead and the jukebox that actually had working lights.

"Says the man who's had the same pinups on his wall since 2001," she barked. 

"Some things just don't go outta style," he retorted. "Coats, gloves, a good belt…”

"Chaffs!”

The chorus of jeering echoed out again. 

Vergil weighed his options amidst his clean plate and empty cup, the animated faces and voices of the full staff of Devil May Cry bantering back and forth between mouthfuls of food and drink. All of them could've been professionals in one-liners and teasing instead of demon hunters, for all an outsider could tell. They didn't typically include him this much. Perhaps, he hoped, this would just be an outlier. Dante was a picture of forgetfulness, Nico a quick-minded fool who leapt between topics without care, and Lady and Trish often fed off each other's boredom mostly for the sake of making Dante miserable. (Vergil let none of them know how much he enjoyed watching that play out).

They would move on to the next topic, next victim, next job, and by morning their silly agreement would be completely forgotten, if not briefly recalled in more jokes and teasing. Vergil had handled the throes of the underworld for decades by himself, and he would handle a few hours of teasing by some simple-minded colleagues he couldn't really call friends. Patience was all he really needed here; patience and perhaps another glass of that wine he had discovered a growing tolerance of.

Oh, how naive he was.

* * *

Nero's birthday grew closer, though Vergil found that everyone mentioned it less. At least, to him. 

A part of him still isn't convinced any of them are serious about the party until he walks into Devil May Cry one day and is met by a bouquet of balloons flanking a bombastic blue banner proclaiming: "It's a boy!" The balloons were white and blue, though it appeared Dante had tried his hand at _balloon artistry_, judging by the long blue and red balloon shapes that sat abandoned on his desk. Vergil could only assume they were to represent Yamato and the Devil Sword Dante, if only because the red one was gigantic and misshapen and the blue one looked like a strand of spaghetti. 

Vergil pondered where he could warp to and not be found in time for anyone to drag him back until his spine tingled with the all-too-familiar sensation of his twin, nearby. 

Dante leapt to his side, shit-eating grin and all, and held out a cigar.

Vergil could have lit the thing with the heat of his glare alone. 

"C'mon, take it!" Dante urged with a smile that refused to be discouraged.

"I will not."

"It's not what you think, alright?" Dante all but shoved the cigar into his brother’s hands.

Vergil slowly brought the cigar to his nose and sniffed, his cold glare furrowing into confusion with the lack of nicotine scent. He sniffed again and found his senses floundering to grasp what rich, hearty sweetness pulled at memories long-shrouded in a different kind of smoke.

"Chocolate?" he questioned.

Dante chuckled and clapped Vergil on the back, nearly making him drop the candy cigar. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist! I even found some strawberry-flavored ones, too," he motioned to a large stack of boxes on the table. All had varying degrees of bows and wrapping on them, smiling characters and children's faces around. 

Furrowed brows and all, Vergil hesitantly tore the wrapping off and bit a small piece of the candy off. Dark chocolate burst through long-neglected taste buds, though he feigned distrust in place of admitting how much he savored the taste in front of his twin. A part of him was shocked Dante opted for a high-quality variety and not the overly-sweet cheap brands that had to be available alongside these. But then again, their parents had attempted to raise them with taste, as much as a certain younger twin had always loved to act otherwise. 

"It's a special occasion," Dante seemingly read his mind, though Vergil also knew his brother just loved filling every second of silence. "You know I had to spring for the good stuff."

That explained the eight thousand dollar coats, at least.

“Dante,” Vergil breathed out heavily, “do you know what people actually give to celebrate a child's birth?”

“Yeah,” he coughed.

“Then why did you pick sweets, of all things?”

“Well, smoking is bad for kids, ain't it? It smells awful enough, anyway--and you don’t wanna get a new dad drunk, so booze is out. Flowers are just one more thing to take care of on top of the kid, so--“

"You actually thought about this?" Vergil could only look at his twin, aghast. Normally he would have assumed Dante's penchant for finding the first, shiniest, cheapest thing would've overtaken any other sense of thought. This was the same man who’d reached for Rebellion because it was shinier (not really), ogled Luce and Ombra because they heralded more sparks than summoned swords (a ludicrous preference), and selected their mother's shawl as his favorite color simply because she was Mother (Vergil could not blame him for that).

But Dante only shrugged innocently. “Yeah. My big brother doesn't become a dad everyday, now does he?”

“Well,” Vergil had to take a deep breath to reign in whatever was clenching in his chest right now, “I certainly hope not. One is enough.”

“Makes you wonder how mom and pop did it, huh?” Dante elbowed him in good humor, a small grin pushing him into dangerous territory. 

“You certainly made it hard enough on your own. I always tried to mind mother's words.”

“You were a damn tattle, that's what. Nobody likes a snitch, brother.”

“Maybe you didn’t. But that was a trap of your own making.”

Dante again shrugged, his mischievous smile showing no signs of shrinking. 

Vergil could only sigh like he had only his lungs for a weapon of self-defense, and not the most powerful sword this side of the underworld. 

“C’mon, put this on before everyone gets here,” Dante held out a baby blue sash decorated with glitter so gaudy Vergil couldn’t even read it without shielding his eyes. But his brother just grinned wider and held it closer, the font that spelled “Daddy-to-be!” bringing Vergil ever closer to committing fratricide.

All the summoned swords he could muster were not enough to make his brother stop laughing. 

* * *

How on earth Vergil comes to be seated at the head of the table with a stack of gifts and food awaiting him without having killed anyone (yet) is beyond him, but it’s too late to make his escape now. Dante would chase after him, they would fight, destroy a good chunk of a city, and somehow Nero would find out and scold them again. Nero, he has to keep reminding himself as he flinches at every unwanted touch and overly familiar comment thrown his way, is the entire reason they’re even doing this to him.

The meal is hard enough to deal with on its own, until one of the ladies announces it's time for gifts and then they surround Vergil even closer than ever before. 

Dante simply hands him an envelope, blank and unsealed with only a single sheet of paper within. "From Morrison," was all he needed to say.

Vergil peeked inside. A check. For a not-too-meager sum of money. Although that was not what made him frown. The pay to the order form was made out simply to _V_. _Your return on investment,_ the note line said. 

"I won't be able to cash this," he tutted, feeling Dante's eyes behind his back.

"Just fill in the rest," his twin goaded. "I do it all the time."

"Dante," Vergil sighed, "that's fraud."

"Hey, it's not my fault nobody seems to remember my name!"

"It is, actually."

Lady leaves and returns to drop a stack of books onto the table, loudly and coldly declaring her gift without even needing to undo the plain brown paper wrapping.

"There," is all she tuts as she crosses her arms. "And make sure you read all of it this time?" she teases as a brief wave of something--several things--washes over Vergil and he hates it. He peeks under the paper to find a full set of parenting books beginning from infant care straight through to _Keeping in Touch with an Adult Child._ His eyebrows fly up at the needless inclusion of the earlier volumes. 

“Nero and his girlfriend take care of a bunch of kids, right? And you’re definitely not going over there without helping out,” Lady pointed a stern finger at him. 

Vergil met her measured gaze, hating every second she managed to read him so well. “I suppose not,” he eventually confirmed. 

“So you might as well be prepared. They’ll be calling you grandpa before you know it!”

Lady and a few others laugh lightly, jokingly, Vergil knows, but he does not know what to do with the cold wave of something that passes through his spine. It’s debilitating, disarming, and distilled all throughout his veins like fear spiked with one-hundred-proof anticipation. He certainly does not fear whatever it is, but he dares not name it, lest he be forced to confront whatever warring emotions come with it.

He just nods at Lady, and she accepts it well enough.

Nico presents him with an old-looking box that had seen its share of reuse. It was labeled as a mixer, but she was quick to insist that it wasn't what it seemed.

"It's my own special creation," she piped up, waving her half-bitten chocolate cigar around, "designed especially for our resident demon daddy!"

Lady groaned loudly. "Please _never_ say that again."

"No promises."

Vergil dug through a nest of newspaper scraps to find what looked like a walkie-talkie but with a large backlit screen built into it. It lacked an antenna but gained a keypad alongside some perplexing side buttons. 

"Think of it like your own personal baby monitor!"

Vergil dug a matching device out of the box and held both out with a frown. “Nero won't appreciate being spied on,” he warned. 

“Yeah, no, it still works like a phone, but I actually used some old baby monitors from the thrift to get the sound nice and amped. I know you old boomers don't take well to touchscreens, so I took that out, too.”

“Damn,” Trish gasped, “you actually made something pretty useful.”

“As an artist does,” Nico took a grandiose bow and sat back down. 

Trish gives him dual-sided holster, and Vergil frowns. Nero's preference for guns still wasn't a topic they'd broached, and he wasn't about to tolerate Dante's dog piling on the subject.

“What?” She smirked. “Think of it like a papoose, except it's not for you and he's gonna use it to kill demons.”

“Why give it to me, then? You can just send it with Nico.”

“You might need it sometimes, he might need it other times.” She motioned at the right side of the holster, which was actually a small, detachable pouch. “Neither of you have any damn pockets and you know it.”

Vergil scoffed. He had kept his book safe enough in what he had for a brief time, though he knew for a fact that Nero sometimes fumbled with the wide berth of his coat to find any bullets or devil breakers. In the heat of a moment mid-hunt, it could have been a big issue. He’d admonished his son for being unorganized several times, and it only ever kept their arguments seized with anger. 

What he’s more shocked to see is that it’s already stocked. A small first aid kit, some cloths, and, oddly, a pack of gum. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen him with those?” Trish raised a thin blonde eyebrow.

Nico snorted. “He chews as much of those as I smoke. He tried to get me into the nicotine ones, but they didn’t take.”

Vergil could only scoff. There was yet another thing about his own son that he didn’t know. Curious. 

He allows the room to joke and bicker about how he should employ his gifts and what to tell Nero of them. In his mind, he plans to do none of it, and to simply deliver what was for his son and tolerate what he could only keep. He’s lucky, he slowly realizes, as the group’s penchant for nonstop talk drains time out of the office quicker than usual, and his scheduled departure arrives just in time to save his sanity. 

Dante sighs when his brother stands and wordlessly points at the one piece of decor he’d personally added to the office: a clock. Vergil needs only to silently turn and wait outside the office doors as Nico rushes to pile the gifts into the van in time. All of them scowl at the end of their fun arriving far too soon, but Vergil has no patience for their mocking or for his potential lateness, the latter especially. It certainly didn’t help that Yamato still hung uselessly at his hip, sensing its need and lamenting the lack of it. 

Vergil could only cling to the ticket in his coat pocket restlessly. Taking the ferry to Fortuna hadn’t been his first choice, of course, but Nico mentioned she’d let him peruse her collection of demonology texts—provided they never left the van. And what better place to read without fear of being interrupted by wild driving or demon attacks? The ocean wasn’t his first guess, but it would do well either way. Nero had also been oddly in favor of it, for reasons he didn't specify.

All of Vergil’s thoughts shatter when a sudden shriek echoes out of a nearby alley. All the hunters turn on their heels instinctively, but all but Vergil relaxed on sight of who they saw. 

A young blonde girl he doesn't recognize sprints up behind them, and Vergil has half a mind to teleport out of sight. But then she screams Dante’s name and he finds himself curious. Dante didn't get very involved with those beyond his inner circle, and everyone at the party had pretty much been it. How did she know him, and why did she care enough to be scuffing her boots and holding her skirt to sprint after him?

“You jerk!” she yelled, smacking Dante with a frilly purse. “You told me five!”

The legendary devil hunter flinched—at the thin flailing limbs of a teenage girl—and held his arms up to block his face and hair from her assault. He didn’t seem to consider her any kind of actual threat, but Vergil still stared with keen fascination and a side of glee. 

“Yeah, we were still there at five,” Dante replied. 

“Trish said you started at two!”

“Well, everyone showed up early. Didn't make sense to just sit around for hours." Dante pointed a thumb at Vergil, who suddenly felt his amusement curdle into annoyance. "Not when Mister Punctual here has a boat to catch."

Remarkably, the young woman perked up the moment she caught Vergil’s gaze and it was as if she had never been cross in the first place. She all but glided past Dante and reached out to Vergil, lithe manners and light tone in her high voice.

"You must be Vergil! I'm Patty and I've just been _dying_ to meet you," she smiled widely. 

_Not as much as you think_, he thought.

"I can't say the same for you," Vergil bristled, though at the sight of a fierce glare from his brother, he shook Patty’s hand very briefly. "If you trusted my brother to inform me, that was your first mistake."

She sighed with a huff of exaggeration. “So I've learned over the years.”

_Ah_. Vergil let some annoyance fall away. At least this Patty wasn't some starry-eyed waif who fawned at his brother’s feet. Still, the unanswered question hung in the air, unbegotten by either of them and least of all, Dante. 

“Dante didn’t even tell me he had a brother, let alone a twin—gosh, you guys are like someone copy-pasted a person!” She giggled nervously, but both twins furrowed their identical brows at her. “Lady wouldn’t say much, but Trish was nice enough to tell me you’d come back recently, so I had hoped for us to meet at the party.”

“I take it you were a client of my brother at some point?” Vergil didn’t think it out of the realm of possibility that she could be a devil hunter, especially after meeting Lady at a young age and seeing Nico ruthlessly run over demons of late. 

“He saved my mother and I, when I was a little girl," Patty sighed wistfully, her smile becoming smaller but no less sincere. 

Vergil wondered how much tinier the girl could have possibly been. An infant? He couldn't even imagine she was of drinking age yet. 

Patty took another cheap shot at Dante. “Though he could be a bit more _polite_ to those who clean up after him!”

A light bulb sprang up beside Vergil’s temple. “You're the one who’s been keeping the office in order,” he realized. 

She nodded with pride. “And you always seem to be gone when I do!”

“I try to avoid my brother's state of living as often as I can.”

She actually laughed. Vergil decided that she was now tolerable, especially if she willingly dealt with Dante on a regular basis. Anyone who would not give his brother the space to be a mess of a businessman was someone he could moderately respect, even if human.

“Anyway, I brought this for your party! Hopefully next time we can actually chat, as long as _someone_ gives me the right time!” Patty punctuated herself with an actual punch to Dante’s shoulder. Again he flinched and again Vergil wondered how on earth a small human girl held such power over a Son of Sparda. Of course, it being Dante wasn’t the appalling part, but it still tickled his curiosity too well. 

Vergil gave his brother a long questioning stare, through which Dante somehow remained neutral, and then there was that gigantic grin that hid everything.

“Alright, alright,” Dante sighed at Patty. “Sorry.”

Patty didn’t grace his apology with an abject acceptance, but turned and spoke of a need to clean up after the party. The baggie she hands over as she takes off is small but extravagantly decorated. Ribbons tied off the handles knotted in an elaborate bow accented by multi-colored tissue paper perfectly folded in neat swirls peeking out of the top. Vergil almost doesn't want to ruin it, but curiosity wins out. He reaches in and feels a bundle that he grabs slowly. Its soft and nicely wrapped in more tissue, which he discards. There, folded neatly, is a blue onesie with "daddy's little demon" written in swirling red font.

Dante takes one look and doubles over in laughter. Vergil freezes, holding it up in shock.

Numbly, he reaches back into the bag and finds an envelope with "to the Sparda family" written in a neat cursive. Ripping it open, a blue card with illustrated balloons and storks brightly congratulates the family on their impending addition, with Patty's own hand signed with hearts and flowers at the bottom.

Dante is still laughing.

Vergil wants to combust. 

Somewhere in the background, the van horns.

Vergil’s shock slowly thawed enough to clench his hand into a fist around the collar of Dante’s jacket. “You told her it was an actual baby shower?”

“No, I swear to god--“

“Then where on earth did she get this idea from? You told her the wrong time on purpose, didn't you? Because you couldn't be bothered to give precise details again?”

“C’mon, brother, don’t you think it's nice? That's a pretty expensive piece of clothing!”

“I don't need anymore of this foolishness. I have a boat to catch.” Vergil turned in a huff, all three tails of his coat whipping angrily behind him, just to be stopped by a firm grip on his shoulder. 

“Hey, at least take it with you!” Dante yelped. 

Vergil refused to turn. “Why should I?”

“It was a gift! Even I know you don't reject something sincere like that!”

“Even still, I have no need of it.”

Dante shrugged, the final shakes of laughter finally leaving his shoulders. “Nero says the orphanage always needs more clothes, so they could probly use it.”

How oddly considerate, yet correct, Vergil thought. “I suppose so,” was what he actually said. He quickly tucked the bag into his single suitcase, willing all the lingering embarrassment to pack itself away as well. His long strides took an urgent tone as he pushed past his twin and set his sights on the van, but not before quickly teleporting back into Dante’s face. 

“Mention this to anyone and even Nero won't be able to save you,” he warned.

Dante just grinned. “Bon voyage!”

* * *

Vergil blessedly avoids the head of the table again, but he is still forced (coerced? requested? Kyrie’s voice has an odd effect on his conscience, he had slowly realized, and he found himself doing more chores for her the less she directly asked.) to take his place at the left of the head. That is where Nero sits, fitfully avoiding long stares with his father and periodically getting up to snatch a utensil or pieces of food from the children. Nero, who’s birthday dinner is substantially larger than their usual meals, as Kyrie tells it. Though by Vergil’s math that includes the trio of orphans they foster, Nico’s occasional visits, and whichever neighbor happens to be nearby at supper. 

This table, just as ramshackle and long as the one in Devil May Cry, holds a banquet that looks enough to feed an entire army, and not just a small orphanage worth of children and caretakers. 

Still, Vergil sits, as quietly and anti-social as he can, lest he be caught in an endless conversation loop with another child. His tea served him well, accompanied with light portions of a few offerings—nothing too heavy for his light appetite, but more than he would naturally, after Nero and Nico’s harsh glares caught him leaving the buffet with a nearly-bare plate. Of course, he wanted to do anything here but cause a scene. 

At some point a cake is brought out, frosted as blue as the balloons Dante had strewn about his office, smelling as richly sweet as the chocolate cigars, lit warmly by dozens of little candles and a swarm of children _awwing_ at the sight. Vergil does not take part in the loud off-key tune they sing to his son, but he does find himself drumming his fingers on his sleeve to the beat. 

Kyrie has also assured him many times over that his mere presence on Nero’s birthday is gift enough, that they have need for very little material things, and if Nero absolutely needs something from him in the future, he’d rather just ask. Vergil only lowers his chin and nods. At least his son had assuredly inherited his appreciation for simplicity.

Still. He allows Nico to hand over the gifts from the others, her animated expressions and descriptions doing them far more justice than he would have ever dared. Every now and then Nero’s wide blue eyes dart over to Vergil, searching for something—perhaps only that he’s still there, watching, being. It starts to ingrain itself in his patience, making his own steady gaze waver whenever his son’s expression changes. 

It’s so _foolish_, yet Vergil can’t find enough of a nerve—any nerve—to calm himself. He does, after all, still have something to offer Nero, even if he could hardly call it a gift. 

Nico eventually takes off, yelling about a missing battery or whatnot, leaving father and son alone in an empty corner of the room. The blue bag sways unsteadily between Vergil’s fingers, his tattered gloves doing his grip absolutely no justice. He clears his throat to get Nero’s attention, though he’s silently alarmed that he actually feels it clearing, rather than his typical use for show. 

Nero just turns and stares, his blank gaze far more perplexing than the angry one Vergil was used to seeing. 

“Dante mentioned you had use for children's clothing?”

Nero’s eyebrows go lopsided, his father’s curveball throwing him for a loop. “Uh, yeah. We always do here.”

“This is something I...found recently.” Vergil dangles the bag up, his need to be rid of the enormous source of embarrassment increasing by the second. 

Nero takes it wordlessly, inspecting the bag for a long moment before curiosity leads him to even open it. 

“You or Kyrie should be able to find a use for it, correct?” He adds, (hopes) drumming his fingers over his knuckles in a tempered rhythm. 

Nero takes one look at the onesie and gapes. Vergil recalls seeing that much surprise on his son’s face exactly once before—when he and Dante had announced their abrupt departure to the underworld. But then he laughs, not as hard or mockingly as Dante, but fondly and hearty (like Mother). It’s as if a cherished memory flits about his mind that Vergil cannot hope to be privy to. Instead, he just waits.

“Y’know,” Nero folds the onesie up and pats it carefully. Reverently, even. “I think we'll keep this one. For ourselves.”

“Of course,” Vergil says without thinking, a wave of relief crashing over him with more force than he had anticipated. And then he thinks, just a second longer than he usually needs to.

Nero just scratches his nose, a sheepish smile growing under his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t think there’s a consensus on when Nero’s birthday is, so I figured a holiday that’s never on the same day would suffice since nobody would know his exact bday anyway, and drawing some more parallels to Catholicism is just fun lol. I know Dante & Vergil would technically be Jesus in this situation, but Nero just suits the role so much better! I also left the ending intentionally vague bc I have no specific grandbaby headcanons and everyone else has been doing such a great job with theirs that I’d rather just leave it be.
> 
> This was written in mind of the “birthday” and “family dinner” prompts, but I just realized it could technically fit “clueless” at the end, huh? I was so worried about this not lining up with any prompts that it didnt hit me until earlier today that I wound up hitting several by accident lmao. Now I just wish I'd managed to fit more actual dadgil content in here :////
> 
> I don't have anything else planned for dadgil week, but I do have a longfic that'll hopefully be up soon and you can find me stressing out about it on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/auraofdawn) lol


End file.
